


“I’m sorry about last night.”

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: First Kisses [43]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 14:38:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15932501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Continuing the series of shorts of possible first kisses between these two.





	“I’m sorry about last night.”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElizaHiggs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaHiggs/gifts).



> A gift for ElizaHiggs. Thank you for the prompt!
> 
> “Could I recommend another? I know that this is kind of playing with the bounds of consent, but I am such a sucker for drunk kissing (when both parties are totally fine with it). Maybe Strike gets a bit tipsy, and the lowered inhibitions lead him to take a chance. He tries to apologize to Robin later (leading to a second “first” kiss!)”

Strike paused in his careful, deliberate ascent of the stairs towards his flat. He swayed slightly and grabbed the handrail. Maybe the fifth pint hadn’t been a great plan. Or the whisky. But Shanker had kind of insisted. Or maybe he had. One of them had.

He glared at the reason for his pause, the lights on in the office. It wasn’t like Robin to forget to switch them off. He fumbled in his pockets for his keys, pulling himself up the last few steps to the small landing.

It took him a few drunken tries to realise that the key wouldn’t work because the door wasn’t locked. Frowning, he pushed it open. The office stood empty at first glance and he reached for the light switch. He was about to flick the lights off and lock up when a small snore reached his ears. He peered round the door to see Robin asleep on the small leather sofa.

He stood for some time, gazing at her, wondering what to do. She looked so beautiful and peaceful, curled up with her cheek resting on her hand and her red gold hair spread across the arm of the sofa. His eyes drank in every detail greedily while they could - the curve of her lips, the way her eyelashes rested against her cheeks, the glint of her hair. He sighed a little. _Blanket,_ he thought. _We’ve got one somewhere._

He stepped properly into the room, and his coat caught the edge of the door and swung it. He wasn’t quick enough to halt its movement before it swung back and hit the sofa, narrowly missing clonking Robin on the head. The combination of the jolt and Strike’s curse at his own clumsiness woke her.

Robin sat up and blinked up at him, trying to remember why she was asleep in the office.

“Shit, sorry,” Strike said. “Din’t mean to wake you. What’re you doing?”

Robin blinked. “I thought I’d wait and see what Shanker had to say,” she said. “But you were ages and I fell asleep.” She glanced at her watch. “Wow, you really were ages.” She looked him up and down. He’d popped out at half past four for a quick pint with his old friend, and it was now gone closing time. Strike was swaying slightly, and she could smell a faint hint of whisky.

He looked at her for a long minute. “You’re pretty,” he announced suddenly, and Robin flushed a little but rolled her eyes. “And you’re drunk,” she said drily.

“Doesn’ mean you’re not pretty,” he countered, in what he clearly felt was a master stroke of linguistic deftness, given how pleased with himself he looked. Robin tried not to giggle. She pulled herself up from the sofa.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” she said. It wasn’t the first time she’d manoeuvred him drunk, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Her business partner didn’t often go all out on a night out, but when he did, he did it thoroughly.

They left the office and headed for the last flight of stairs. “The lights...” Strike protested, but Robin gave him a gentle push. “Keep going,” she said. “I’ll come back down and lock up.” She was in fact planning to just sleep on the sofa. She had gym clothes she could sleep in and a toothbrush in her bag of tricks, as Strike called it, and it didn’t seem worth going all the way home now.

They made it to his flat. Robin waited patiently while Strike fumbled with his keys, and when he dropped them she picked them up and opened the door herself.

“I c’n manage,” he said, clearly making an effort to appear more sober than he was. Robin looked at him uncertainly. “You sure?”

He nodded. “‘M sure,” he said, and then smiled at her suddenly, the genuine smile that she didn’t see often, that made her heart melt even when it was a tiny bit lopsided due to an excess of alcohol. “Thank you, Robin,” he said softly.

She smiled back. “I haven’t really done anything,” she said.

“You’re here though,” he said. “Y’re always here when I need you.”

She nodded, and turned to go, but his hand on her arm stopped her. She turned back, looking up at him, and her eyes widened at the way he was looking at her, with fondness and...something else, something darker, exciting. Her heart was beating faster suddenly.

There was a pause as they looked at one another, and then Strike leaned down and kissed her. Robin squeaked a little in surprise as his mouth closed over hers. He was a little clumsy but not hesitant at all, kissing her with sure intent, and she wanted to melt into him.

 _He’s only doing this because he’s drunk,_ she told herself. _He’ll regret it tomorrow._ But she couldn’t help kissing him back, her lips moving with his, parting for him as his tongue sought hers. He was gentler than she would have expected given his level of inebriation, and the taste of whisky on his tongue wasn’t unpleasant.

Coming to her senses a little, Robin put her hands on Strike’s shoulders and gently pushed him away.

“Bad plan, Cormoran,” she said quietly. “You’re drunk.”

He drew back and looked at her searchingly, then dropped his eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Go to bed,” Robin said gently. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He nodded and closed the door, and Robin set off back down to the office.

...

The sofa was not the most comfortable, and Robin woke in the morning with a crick in her neck. She grabbed her emergency wash bag, washed as best she could in the sink in the little toilet, brushed her teeth, changed her clothes. She tried not to think too hard about last night, about what it had meant. _It was just a drunk kiss,_ she thought. _He didn't really mean it._ But she found herself hoping for...what? She shook her head. _Stop it._ At half past eight she locked up the office and went out to fetch their morning coffees from the cafe over the road.

To her surprise, Strike was at his desk when she got back fifteen minutes later. He had shadows under his eyes and looked slightly pale, but he was freshly showered and looked more alert than she’d been expecting. He stood and moved towards her as she entered the office with the coffees.

She smiled up at him as she passed him his. “How’s the head?” she asked, gently teasing. He grimaced as he gratefully took his coffee.

“Been better,” he said ruefully. “But been worse too. Look, Robin...” He paused. “I’m sorry about last night, about...kissing you.” He’d decided the direct approach was best. “It was totally inappropriate, and it won’t happen again.”

She nodded, a little disappointed if she were honest with herself.

“You had every right to push me away,” he went on, and then grinned at her. “I’m lucky you didn’t slap me,” he joked.

Robin gazed up at him, suddenly still. “Why?” she asked.

Strike hesitated, thrown off balance a little. “Er...”

Robin looked at him steadily. “I pushed you away because you were drunk and I thought you were doing something you’d regret,” she said.

There was a pause. Heat crept into Robin’s face. Strike looked at her, his eyes searching hers, a glimmer of hope in his heart. Maybe he hadn’t messed up as much as he’d thought. He’d been quietly castigating himself all morning.

“What if I wasn’t going to regret it?” Strike eventually asked, a little hoarsely.

“Then I wouldn’t have pushed you off,” Robin replied quietly.

Another slight pause, and then he leaned down and kissed her again. Robin didn’t jump this time, but she did grin against his mouth as his lips met hers, feeling his answering smile, and then his mouth opened to hers and he deepened the kiss. They stood there slightly awkwardly, holding a coffee each, kissing one another, until Strike drew back, took Robin’s cup and put both coffees on his desk.

“Come here,” he murmured, turning back and pulling her into his arms. He kissed her again, his tongue twining around hers, and she pressed closer, her arms creeping up around his neck.

Eventually Strike pulled back and smiled down at her. “How could I ever regret kissing you?” he asked, and she smiled back.

“Then I kind of regret pushing you away,” she replied, and he chuckled.

 


End file.
